capt_facepalm

Title:  Extrication
Author: capt_facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight)
Characters:  Sherlock Holmes, Dr John H Watson
Summary:  Aftermath of an opium den altercation.
Warnings:  Black eye
Word Count:  221 (According to Microsoft)
Author's Notes:

~For Challenge 016 at  watsons_woes
~New and improved with goldvermilion87  beta! All hail! 
 

Title:  Another Fine Mess
Author: capt_facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight)
Characters:  Sherlock Holmes, Dr John H Watson
Summary:  Whump, angst, hurt/comfort. Egad!
Warnings:  Does author's pawky presumption count?
Word Count:  221
Author's Notes:  For watsons_woes's Second Anniversary Party

(December 13)


“Lookit! Alfie’s got cake!” yelled Danny.

“How come you got cake, Alfie?”

“My Gran made it for my birthday,” Alfred Weber replied.

Five boys ranging in age from eight to twelve huddled around him, trying to get a look, and perhaps a taste, of the baked delicacy. They were all members of Wiggins’ gang, and although they had a less prestigious name when performing their commonplace activities, they were also known as the Baker Street Irregulars.

“Who wants some?” Alfie teased.

“I do!” exclaimed Seth. “It was my birthday last week and I didn’t get cake!”

Each of the other boys stated their case, clamouring for a share. All except Freddie.

“I don’t got a birthday,” Freddie said, trying to be nonchalant.

The boys in the gang were desperately poor. Some, like Alfie, had some family to care for them. Others had fled from abusive homes to find refuge in the streets. But Freddie had nobody; not even any history. He was found, abandoned in Euston Station, by Wiggins’ predecessor. Although his true age could not be determined, he must have been only four years old at the time. That would make him eleven now.

“Then you’ve never, ever got a birthday present?”

Freddie shook his head. “I don’t got a birthday.”

“Then you can share mine,” said Alfie. “Happy Birthday!”

Author: Capt_Facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Surgeon John H. Watson
Summary: Maiwand
Warnings: battle, hack n' slash, but no slashy "slash"
Word Count: 221
Author's Notes: Third 221B attempt.

(These things keep popping up and preventing me from completing more important work!)

Note:  Watson's rank as Captain is definitely not common practice, but I plan to explore that in a future fic. 

Please read and review.

.oOOo.

The retreating soldiers were thrown into panic as they were set upon by a band of Afghani irregular light cavalry who attacked their flank with lance and sword.  Men abandoned their wounded comrades and scattered, only to be picked off at will by their enemies.

The cavalry cut through the demoralised British ranks with devastating results. Captain Watson ordered those around him to stand their ground and fight to protect the wounded. The presence of an officer inspired some men to rally and they successfully repelled the first attack.  Then Watson switched tactics.  He no longer regarded the enemy as a murderous threat, but a source of horses, and changed his orders.  When they regrouped for another attack, the Afghani riders with the misfortune of attacking Watson’s knot of men found themselves unhorsed by any and all means possible; and once on the ground quickly dispatched by fierce and desperate soldiers.

Faced with such strong resistance the Afghanis moved on to less resilient targets.  Watson rubbed his eyes and squinted through the dust clouds.  He then ordered the capture of the few loose horses before returning his attention to the casualties.  There were enough able men and horses to carry these wounded from the area, so Watson supervised their withdrawal to join the main retreat before returning himself to the battlefield.

Author: Capt_Facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Surgeon John H. Watson, Surgeon-Major Alexander Francis Preston
Summary: Khandahar
Warnings: dark themes, no slash
Word Count: 221
Author's Notes: Second 221B attempt. (These are addictive as crack!) Please read and review.

.oOOo.
 

John Watson knocked and entered Major Preston’s office.

“Doctor, you are out of uniform,” Again. Preston added to himself.

“Yes sir. I was helping with the...”

“I don’t think I want to know,” interrupted the major. “We’re pulling out in a few days and I want to settle the orderlies’ assignments. Who do you want to work with?”

Watson paused. “Anyone. They’re all very competent.” What else could he say? Surgeon-Major Preston hand-picked all of his medical staff.

“You hesitated, John. Please speak your mind.”

“It’s Murray. I know I’m the new boy here, but his constant criticism is wearing a bit thin. I swear the man despises me and I cannot think what I have done to earn his enmity.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” sighed Preston. “It’s not your fault. Murray was going to have problems with any replacement for Doctor Glass. They were friends, you know, and Murray took his death very badly.”

“How does that concern me?” Watson inquired.

“Ronald Glass was a young, very talented surgeon; a compassionate man and a healer in the truest sense of the word. Very much like yourself.” 

Watson asked softly, “What happened to him?”

“After a week of overwhelming casualties, everyone was exhausted. That night Doctor Glass took his revolver and silenced the ghosts in his head with a bullet.”